


spaces

by naegiriko



Category: Huniepop & Huniecam (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, College, Dorms, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:34:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28846869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naegiriko/pseuds/naegiriko
Summary: An assortment of drabbles featuring the girls of the Huniepot universe, meant to humanize them and show their personalities through intimate moments with them.
Relationships: Beli Lapran/Reader, Tiffany Maye/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	1. beli's place

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not sure if i want to continue doing rooms/apartments for all the chapters...we'll see.

The first time you come over to her place, you’re dizzy from the smell. The scent of incense sits heavy in the room along with essential oil blends and rich spices - something like nutmeg and cardamom. It takes you a moment; but you’re finally able to breathe and look at her, her body relaxing, adjusting back to her own space. She seems nervous, but you smile to reassure her, and the sight of her warm eyes closing in relief makes your heart thud in your chest. 

It’s messy in a productive sort of way. There’s a white desk in the corner, the wall above is plastered with postcards, and a tapestry of Ganesh swings low to the right of the window. A smiling Indian couple beams in a turquoise frame in the corner - her parents, you assume. As you get closer, you realize she looks like her mother, who is standing tall and dignified, her frame draped in a saffron-tinted sari. Her father looks small in the photo next to her, drooping, as if he was ill when the photo was taken. 

Next to the white desk with the sleek Macbook, lilac planner, and Himalayan salt lamp is a modern-style bookshelf. A nurtured succulent in a terra cotta pot rests on the top shelf next to an impressive collection of yoga and Eastern medicine books. There are a few about reiki, mindfulness, and an anatomy coloring book. Above that, a yoga certification hangs on the sage-colored wall. A plushy yoga mat in dusty rose is crammed in between the bookshelf and the wall. The shelf closest to the ground is the messiest, old planners and journals back to back with law school textbooks. There is an especially dogged, raggedy book, pages curling at the edges, that looks like an LSAT prep guide. You try to imagine her in a courtroom, the palette around her a jungle of bureaucratic brown, governmental green, and marble white, but you can’t, no matter how bad you’d like to see her in one of those tight fitting pencil skirts and blazers.

The couch you sink down into is a vibrant orange. She is humming to herself in the kitchen, opening cabinets and shutting them. You hear liquid pouring, the rubber sound of a closing fridge. And she appears again, her legs long and toned in purple yoga pants. On top she wears a tight-fitting, pumpkin-colored bra that holds in her breasts as she moves through different yoga flows and positions. She’s sweaty still, shiny strands of black hair curling at her temples. 

“Mango lassi?” she asks, her brown hand wrapped around a crystal glass filled with an orange drink.


	2. tiffany's dorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a lil bit of tiff <3 this makes me miss the academic environment pre-pandemic :/

Along the hallway, construction paper cutouts of sea animals adorn each door. Some have two, others just one, with thick black ink reading names like LINDSEY, KATELYN, and MADISON. Finally, you round the corner and see it: the pink jellyfish shape where TIFFANY leaps out to you in a bold, fancy script.

“With my scholarship, I was able to afford a single. Not too bad, huh?” 

It’s an understatement. Despite the drab, standard dorm furniture, she’s been able to transform her dorm into something that looks like the PINK storefront. She’s covered the dim beige walls in decor, so as to prevent that specific brand of university depression to seep in from the building. Some are cheer posters, smiling girls in tight red Glenberry uniforms, their makeup glittering. It’s little costume-y, but you can’t deny their cheery appeal, all the long legs and white smiles above shaking pom-poms. She even has her own team photo posted up, and she hardly looks like the same person with all the makeup on. Her pigtails are pinned so tightly to her scalp it looks painful, but billowy red bows sit atop them, cushioning the blow. She has silver glitter at the corners of her eyes, but they seem to sparkle even without the shiny flecks. 

The rest of the posters are of boys, proving the validity of her flirty exterior. She has the team photos for the men’s basketball and volleyball teams. You notice that the most attractive boys have Sharpie scribbles next to them, the shitty signatures of college athletes. Pictures of Harry Styles and Timothee Chalamet smile seductively back at you. 

“You don’t think it seems too much like a high schooler’s room, do you?”

You shake your head no, but the more you look, the more youthful details you see - a shelf of body sprays and sugar scrubs advertising acne free skin and fruity, flirty scents. Her closet hangs open, revealing pink plastic hangers wearing an army of crop tops, tiny skirts, and cutoffs. The dorm-issued dresser, which she’s covered in stickers, bursts with brightly colored thongs and bralettes. Above her bed dangles a string of clear lights, leading down to the extension cord plugged into the wall.

She flops onto her bed, relaxing back onto a huge, white fuzzy pillow. The pink comforter wrinkles underneath her. You can’t help but notice all of the stuff crammed onto her bed - her laptop, notebooks, dining hall receipts, several decorative pillows, and a worn kitten plush. Its plastic pink nose is scuffed and cracked, and its white fur has become a dingy grey with time and wear. 

She pats the bed for you to join her, and you sweep the junk to the side with a large swing of your arm. The soft textures of pillows and blankets mingle with the sharp crinkles of notebook paper at your arms. You watch her as she reaches for the worn kitty, which had gotten precariously close to the crack between the bed and the wall. 

“Want to pick up some pizza from the Caf?” she asks you, still smiling at you with clear blue eyes, her fingers playing with the fraying whiskers on the stuffed kitten.


End file.
